


Bluebird

by SatuD2



Category: Coco (2017), She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Quests, bluebird of happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 16:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20361247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatuD2/pseuds/SatuD2
Summary: 'ATTENTIONReports of a horrifying beast in the Hierve El Agua area, near the King’s private pool. Reward offered for the destruction of this creature. Bring the head to the palace for payment.'While the notice didn't grab his attention, the enormous reward promised did. Leaving Imelda behind, Héctor and Ernesto set off to try and find this horrifying creature. Whatever it turned out to be.





	Bluebird

**Author's Note:**

> For the r/fanfiction August challenge! I got a random trope, revealed at the end, please enjoy! :D
> 
> Thank you to the lovely MaverickWerewolf for helping me with some lore. You're marvellous <3

The call had come from across the kingdom. A million pamphlets—few could read them and so they were promptly discarded, piling up in gutters and flitting across the wide open fields around Santa Cecilia—and earnest heralds attempted to gather crowds to shout in town squares. Héctor happened upon one discarded pamphlet in the very corner of the Rivera field. Marked with a boot print in red mud, the elaborate script caught his eye. He cast a look over his shoulder, ensuring he was alone, before fishing it out and dusting it off. The mud was dry and the brush of his fingertips flaked it off in large firm clumps. Beneath, the boot print remained, stained red into the paper, but the words were utterly legible.

> _ ATTENTION _
> 
> _ Reports of a horrifying beast in the Hierve El Agua area, near the King’s private pool. Reward offered for the destruction of this creature. Bring the head to the palace for payment. _

And then beneath, a number so large he didn’t quite know how to parse it. It was a hell of a lot of zeros at least. The paper slipped from between his lax fingers, spiralling down to land in the mud, that obscenely large number staring up at him. He turned. Staggered a bit. Knelt, ignoring the dampness that immediately soaked into the knee of his trousers. With that money he could finally propose. He could give her everything she’d ever wanted. 

But this was crazy. He couldn’t take down a monster. He was a musician, a story teller, a _ bard _. What was he going to do? Sing it to death? No, if he was going to do this he needed muscle. He needed a fighter. 

He needed Ernesto de la Cruz.

Abandoning the field—the seeds would keep for now—he vaulted over the fence and dashed towards town. The de la Cruz hacienda was hidden at the back of the blacksmith, radiating heat and the ringing sounds of hammer meeting metal. Ernesto’s father crafted the finest blades in the wider province, and his mother was an expert fletcher who supplied arrows to the royal guard. Ernesto himself had no interest in smithing. Had taught himself to strike and parry, to dodge. Through their teenage years, while Héctor was growing tall and lean like a beanstalk, Ernesto grew into that coveted upside down triangle of powerful muscle. Girls would giggle and cover their faces when he walked past, shield slung over his back and his favourite shortsword sheathed on his hip. He was perfect for a quest like this.

And a number as large as the one promised would still be just as life-changing when split fifty-fifty.

He found Ernesto unfolding one of the many flyers and squinting at the words written therein. In his face, Héctor could see the kid he’d grown up with, who’d avoided the written word like the plague. There was a momentary widening of his eyes, and Héctor knew that even though he couldn’t understand the words, Ernesto had absorbed the scale of that number. Héctor, excited that the groundwork had been laid before he arrived, called out: “Ernesto!”

“Héctor!” Ernesto turned as Héctor vaulted over a fence and skidded to a halt, panting slightly, one hand on his chest. “Have you seen this? What does it say??”

Héctor batted the paper out of his face and grabbed Ernesto’s shoulders. “Would you like to come and slay a monster with me?”

A steely glint came into Ernesto’s eyes. He lifted the paper again and jabbed a finger at the number. “That’s what it’s about? A monster?” The glint sparked into a flame and an excited grin spread over his face. “And this, this is the reward, right?”

“That’s right.” Héctor yelped as Ernesto gripped his arms and lifted him easily into the air. “Hey, hey, put me down!”

“Where is this monster, amigo?” Ernesto asked, ignoring Héctor’s request and spinning him around anyway. “How far do we need to go to slay the beast?”

Héctor squirmed free and landed on the ground in a cat-like crouch, ready to dart away if Ernesto showed any signs of grabbing him again. “It’s near the king’s private pool in the Hierve El Agua. Do you know it?”

“The stone waterfalls? Ay, it’s about a week’s hike away. Ten days if we have to hike up? Easily done.” There was a kind of greedy glee in the way he rubbed his hands together. “I’ll gather some equipment, you run home and grab some stuff, we’ll meet back up at Mariachi Plaza.” He gripped Héctor’s arm. “Just promise me, amigo, only one instrument, okay?”

“Fine.” Héctor shrugged him off and began re-cataloguing his packing. “Meet you in the plaza in two hours. We’ll set off right away.”

When Ernesto turned and rushed inside, Héctor easily vaulted over the fence again and sprinted home. He got as far as the side field, where he had bolted with the flyer, and saw Imelda crouched in the mud, plucking little clods from the ground and tucking them into the deep pocket on her apron. Perhaps hearing his running footsteps, she turned in her crouch, mud squelching from beneath her boots, her eyes blazing with fury.

“Where the hell did you run off to?” she snapped as Héctor sheepishly hopped over this fence and approached, hands behind his back and head lowered. “Leaving the seeds scattered all over the place, no order or reason. What if I hadn’t come to check, huh? What if we’d gotten all the way to the weeding and this corner was just mayhem?”

“I’m sorry, Imelda, I got carried away.” She huffed and turned back to the mud. Determined to get back on her good side before leaving, Héctor crouched beside her and started to pick out seeds from the earth, depositing them into Imelda’s pocket. Their fingers brushed on occasion, and with each touch he could feel the splinters of her rage soften. When he saw the first hint of a smile touch her lips, he said, “The King has sent out a summons, a request to kill a monster.” 

The smile fell away. Her eyes widened. “Héctor, you can’t.” The ‘r’ at the end of his name wasn’t rolling off her tongue like venom, so he wasn’t in trouble yet. However, that could flip in a second.

“The reward is enormous,” he said. “Big enough that we could stop farming, we could buy a house, a _ palace _. We could do whatever we wanted!” The words ‘get married’ hovered on the tip of his tongue but he managed to swallow them back before they escaped. Imelda knew his intentions, but he still wanted it to be a bit of a surprise. “I’m going to have Ernesto with me, it’s not going to be just me going against the creature alone.”

“What sort of creature?” Her eyes were narrowed, suspicious, but he could see the gears turning behind them, the plan clicking together.

The most important thing now was to be honest. “It doesn’t say. Whatever it is I’m sure Ernesto and I can manage it together.” He caught her hand, squeezed it tight. The callouses on her palm were rough on his fingertips. The hope that soon she wouldn’t have them, that her days of hard physical labour were over, sparked bright in his heart and he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed each knuckle. “I’ll be back, Imelda. Maybe a month. And then all our troubles would be over.”

“Fine.” She laughed and wiggled her hand free of his adoring grasp. “One month, Héctor. And if it’s too dangerous, I want you to come right home. Promise me.”

“I promise.” Overwhelmed with hope, a bubbling font in his chest that filled him with light, he hugged her tight to him and rained kisses on her cheeks. 

She helped him pack, selecting a guitar—an easy choice, the opalescent pearl and white one she’d gifted him was the only one he could take. Ernesto was waiting impatiently at the plaza, several swords slung at his hips and a big new shield over his back, the de la Cruz emblem gleaming in newly wrought iron. 

“Only one instrument, right?”

“Right.” Héctor drummed his fingers on the case of his guitar, the string tied to the edges digging into his shoulder. Imelda caught his hand and pulled him into a kiss, her fingers gently tracing the points of his cheekbones and the curve of his nose. 

“I’ll miss you, mi amor,” she murmured against his mouth.

“I will be back soon.” He kissed her again, his heart made whole by her touch. “I promise.”

* * *

The trek was hard. The initial bright optimism soon waned, Ernesto becoming grouchy at every little thing Héctor did: the tunes he hummed to himself, the chords he plucked out of his guitar during the cold nights, even that his stride was just that little bit longer. As each day passed, they found themselves caught up in the emotion of it. The feeling of walking into battle. They were going to kill a monster. They were going to slice off its head and take it to the king. They were going to be rich men. With each night that passed, the moon grew. It became a sliver, then a wedge. The nights grew a little brighter, silver starting to seep into the darkness.

Finally, after what felt like months, they found their way to the stone falls of Hierve El Agua. The dry, white stone stretched up above them as high as they could see, with thin runnels of water, clear and beautiful, trickling through the gaps. It was almost a living sculpture, a waterfall frozen in a moment, and the feeling of looking at it was of being stuck. Of waiting for the time to start flowing again so the water could finish its crashing course to the ground.

“We can’t get up here,” Ernesto said, squinting and shielding his eyes as he measured up the falls with his eyes. Héctor touched his fingers to the stone, rubbing the chalky residue off his fingertips onto his vest. White marking purple. He grimaced then looked around. There was a between in the not too distant woods, their wooden pillars marked with lanterns that hung empty and dark. There was an iron gate blocking their way, strung between two particularly large stone formations.

Héctor nudged Ernesto’s broad shoulder and gestured at it, raising his eyebrows suggestively. A wicked little grin spread over Ernesto’s face and he nodded. 

Leaving his guitar and bag resting on the stone that blocked the path, Héctor prepared himself at the gate. Ernesto hiked him up onto his shoulder easily and tossed him over the iron bars, Héctor yelping as he sailed over the sharp points, and then he was over, landing in a heap on the steps. They were carved from the same white stone as the falls, chalky dust wafting up in a choking cloud. 

“Let me in, Héctor,” Ernesto prodded from the other side.

There was a moment where Héctor got his breath back, before he hopped up and examined the gate. There was no apparent mechanism keeping it shut. No lock or line of chain. No hatch or hook. He pushed it with one hand, but it didn’t shift. Definitely locked. But with no lock. Thankfully with no keyhole that he could see either.

“Up there, amigo,” Ernesto said, gesturing at the top. “I think I see something.”

Héctor straightened, rose to his toes, squinted. There was a small fastening at the top of the gatepost, a tiny keyhole surrounded by thick metal, but he thought he could pick it. He wasn’t adept at picking locks, by any means, but it was something he liked tinker with. Better than just jamming a sword in and hoping it’d break enough to open.

“Pass my picks,” he said, putting his hand to the bars that were so close together that it may be a struggle to get the fine metal threads of his tools through.

“I can’t find any,” Ernesto said after a second, and Héctor started laughing when he saw his friend hunting through the guitar case.

“Not guitar picks, amigo, lock picks! In my bag, front pocket.”

Ernesto straightened in a hurry and went to the other bag, his cheeks a brilliant red. On the other side, Héctor continued to giggle to himself, even as Ernesto passed the tools through the bars and he went to work on the lock. It was small, but surprisingly complex, a number of tumblers shifting under the delicate pressure. 

Picking locks was almost like tuning an instrument. Hearing the lock, testing the tension, gently teasing the mechanism into place. There was a little barely tangible thunk as each tumbler was held in place, and with a satisfied little sigh he finally managed to click it open. This time when he pushed the gate swung open easily and he gestured with a dramatic flair. “Tah-dah!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ernesto shouldered past him and started climbing the steps. “No point waiting around, amigo, let’s go.”

There was only a moment of hesitation on Héctor’s part—_ He didn’t have to shove...— _before he grabbed up his own bag and re-slung his guitar. “Amigo! Wait up!”

The staircase was expertly carved. Small details were scattered here and there up the trail, so the eye didn’t get bored with white rock and forest. Here a painted fresco of the King and Queen. There an intertwining vine sculpture, delicate fronds and small flowers unfurled from a masterful hand. There was a sense of wonder here, like they were climbing into some amazing fairytale world.

“Can we rest, amigo?” Héctor asked when they had been walking maybe an hour. The long muscles in his legs were burning, and his breath came in gasping heaves. Ernesto let out a dramatic sigh, looked up at the ceiling, and then sat heavily on the stairs without another word. “Thank you.” Héctor sat and took a big gulp of water. It trickled down his chin and neck, soaking into his shirt, blessedly cool on his hot skin. Before them, the trees were starting to thin, revealing a scenic vista of thick forests and mountain ranges. It was gorgeous, and Héctor wished Imelda was here to see it. “How much higher can this go?” he asked, daring to lean forward a bit and look out over the edge. The height was dizzying, and he quickly returned to a reclining position, holding tight to the step as though he was in danger of sliding off. 

“Not much. Maybe another third of what we’ve climbed already.” Ernesto’s tone was short, his words clipped, and Héctor felt a little prickle of uncertainty on the back of his neck.

“Alright.” He sprang to his feet, trying to do what he did best: to raise the mood. “I’m ready, amigo. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Ernesto grunted and got to his feet. They started to climb again. Step after step, the occasional glance over to the side to see their progress. It wasn’t really visible. Dizzyingly high was not much different from scarily high, after all.

Then above them, the sky opened up, unfolded from between the trees. It was huge and clear, only little wisps of cloud glowing in the midday sun. Ernesto flung out his arm and blocked the path.

Héctor looked over it, his brow furrowed. “Amigo?”

“We need to stop and recuperate. We don’t know what that monster is so we’ll need all our strength.” Ernesto said briskly, then sat and reached into his bag, pulling out a slab of cured meat. They had been chipping away at it over their journey, carving thin slices off for their meals and occasional snacks. There was still plenty left, more than enough for the trip back home, even if they were both incredibly sick of the taste by now. Héctor accepted the offered slice, pulling a bit off and chewing slowly. The meat was tough, and he needed to work hard to get it to soften. The pain in his legs eased as the meat hit his stomach, and he had to fight the urge to bounce up to his feet again. Ernesto was clearly sick of his bouncing.

After a long silence where they both chewed up and swallowed another two slices of meat, Ernesto nodded. “Alright. Up we go. But quietly, Héctor. No need to announce our presence to whatever is up there.”

Héctor nodded and drew a line over his lips, sealing them shut, still smiling as though that would make Ernesto happy again. In that moment it was all he wanted. 

There was no door at the top of the stairs. No barrier between them and open air. Instead, they just stepped from the staircase, out of the forest, and onto a large flat expanse of the same chalky stone that formed the falls. There was a carved pool, clearly man made, filled to the brim with steaming water that lead right up to the edge of the falls with a series of small carved statues demarcating the corners. Resting in the pool was a figure. It was almost humanoid, but there were bright red chitinous spikes lining its shoulders. The sight sent a shock of horror right into Héctor’s gut, threatening to bring up the meat he had just eaten, and he swallowed hard. Glancing at Ernesto, he could see the hate and disgust that twisted his usually handsome features. A rage that he had never seen before.

“Amigo?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“That’s it. That’s the creature.” Ernesto’s knuckles were white, his hand shaking on the hilt of his sword. He drew it with one swift motion, the folded blade gleaming silver, and stepped forward. “We have to kill it.”

Héctor agreed. Whatever it was, it was an abomination and needed to be destroyed. They stepped out together, him holding one of Ernesto’s spare swords, a thin rapier with a wicked point. As they did the creature rose from the pool, steaming water streaming off the chitinous spikes, the massive claws, the curved scorpion tail. It was easily seven foot tall, broad and muscled and...wearing a...dress? Golden and shimmering, lining the red chitin with soft light. It had white hair, short with a shaved undercut.

“Oh hi, fellas,” the creature said as it—she?—turned towards them. “Sorry, am I intruding? I just really needed a good soak.” She stretched, joints cracking with barely audible pops and a surprisingly amiable face with soft eyes and a black upper lip curved in a smile behind bright red spines. “I’ll get movin’ now.” 

“Silence, creature,” Ernesto snapped. He brandished the sword, his disgust and malice dripping off every word. Héctor hesitated for just a moment before nodding. There was something...not right here. Something that didn’t fit. “We are here to slay you.”

“Slay me?” A comical shock flitted over her face and then she started to laugh. It was a warm, belly laugh, and a little more of that horror ebbed away from Héctor’s gut. This definitely wasn’t right. He needed to figure this out. “Don’t be silly, guys. I know when I’m not wanted, I’ll just head home, huh? No harm, no foul.” She held up her hands—except of course she had no hands, only those huge red claws—in a gesture that, to Héctor, looked a hell of a lot like supplication. 

“Quiet!” Ernesto was shaking, Héctor could almost feel the tension in him, as tight as a coiled spring, and reached out to put a hand on his arm. Killing this beast...well… It felt wrong. She wasn’t a beast.

“Amigo, give me a second.” He stepped in front of Ernesto, raised one hand. “Good evening! Do you have a name, señorita?”

“Oh my, I’ve never in my days.” She grinned at him. There was that momentary flare of that same disgust, that awful rage-inducing horror, that had hit before, but Héctor managed to tamp it down. The feeling didn’t fit how happy she sounded, how friendly. She was damned personable, really. “My name is Scorpia. Fits, don’ it? With the tail and the claws and what not.” She poked at the tail that curved behind her, the sting at the end razor sharp and dripping with a clear bead of venom. “Anyways, I came out here to have a bit of a look around, catch the sights, but I got a bit stuck up here. What with the gate being locked and all that.” She smiled, a touch apologetically, and Héctor could again see kindness radiating through her. 

“I’m going to kill that thing and slice off its head,” Ernesto growled from behind him. The fury in his voice almost glowed red hot, and hearing it set Héctor’s teeth on edge.

“You can’t. Ernesto, look at her, she’s a living being. She’s intelligent, she’s smart. Let’s just let her go home and we can go back to Santa Cecelia.”

A long silence, almost palpable, stretched out, before Ernesto asked, “And the money?”

The words sent a cold bolt through Héctor. It didn’t seem to matter that this being was intelligent, was alive, Ernesto was going to kill her anyway. For the reward. For money. That wasn’t heroic. That was murder.

Without realising he was doing it, he dropped the rapier with a ringing clatter and stepped in front of his friend, held out his arms and shook his head. “No, Ernesto, you can’t. I won’t let you.”

“Get out of the way, Héctor.” Upper lip rising in a vicious snarl. The Ernesto of their childhood was gone. Héctor’s best friend, the man he trusted above all else, was now a stranger. Made a stranger by the rage in his eyes and the furious twist to his mouth. There was nothing familiar about him. And that made it easy to grab his wrist and push it down, lowering the sword.

“No. I won’t. Drop the sword, Ernesto.”

There was a long silence. A pause where their eyes bore into each other, a furious staring match. Neither willing to give up their position. And then a sharp thud. A dull punch to Héctor’s gut. And a sudden horrified widening of Ernesto’s eyes.

Héctor looked down. Feeling his knees loosen, a sudden heat flushing over him. Ernesto’s sword was protruding from the purple cloth of his vest. A purple that was quickly darkening to maroon. He touched the hilt of the sword, pressed on it, and heaved as a sickening wave of pain washed over him from his gut. 

“Ernesto…”

He stumbled back. Pulling the hilt from Ernesto’s lax grip. Feeling the blade shift with each jolting step. When he fell, he didn’t, as he expected, land on hard, damp stone. Instead he was caught in smooth claws, spikes pressing into his flesh not quite hard enough to hurt. A soft gasp and the sight of Scorpia’s horrified eyes. And then everything faded to black.

* * *

When he woke up the sky was dark and a huge, silvery full moon floated above him. A full moon? That wasn’t right, it had been only a quarter the night before. There was a crackling fire nearby, glowing embers spiralling into the night air. He frowned. Tried to get up. Grimaced and fell back as pain rose in his stomach again.

“Woah there, partner, slow and steady.”

His vision cleared and he looked to the side, his hand gently touching the sore spot in his gut. He blinked and then recoiled slightly at the scorpion woman that was sitting there, anxiously looking at him above steepled claws. She waved one now, a sheepish little grin on her face.

“I know, I know. Scary, aren’t I? I’ve been trying to keep you well, but you’ve not been doing great. Feeling a bit better now though, I hope?” He touched his stomach again, felt a rough square beneath his vest. Pulling it up, he saw a cloth square that lay, unsecured, to his belly. He gingerly lifted the fabric to see....a white gnarled scar in the middle of his previously smooth brown skin. It still hurt, but the actual wound was healed.

“I don’t understand,” he said, then jolted. “Ernesto! He stabbed me!”

“Sure did.” The woman—Scorpia, how could he have forgotten her name—grabbed a log and poked it onto the fire. “Surprised the life outta me. I thought you two were friends.” 

“We were.” Héctor covered his eyes, blinking away the sting of tears, and covered and sobbed into his palm. Scopia made a few noises of commiseration and waved her claws at him. “I can’t understand…” He lifted his hand and stared at her, eyes wide. “How did you get away?”

“Well I stung ya.” She grinned. “Stung ya both, really. Left him up there and pulled you away to try and heal you up some. See if I could fix you.” She touched her claw to her chin, eyes narrowed pensively. “It...took some time. Sorry about that.”

“Some time?” He touched the twisted scar again, feeling an accompanying cramp in his gut. It was all healed. Sore, but healed. “How long exactly, Scorpia?”

She brightened. A smile like the sun emerging from a cloudy sky. The horror didn’t even flash up this time, instead there was a warm sort of glow that almost completely erased the pain in his stomach. “You remembered my name! I never did get yours. I tried to read some of your things but it didn’t say your name anywhere. I’ve been calling you…” She paused, lifted her claws and moved them slowly apart, as though there was a banner. “Stabs McGee.”

“My name is Héctor,” he said, unable to stop the laugh that rose in his throat. 

“I was close.” She tapped her chin again, the smile fading somewhat, then said softly. “I’ve had to keep you asleep for a long time, Héctor. My sting paralyses, you see. People think I’m poisonous. Venomous? Whichever. The _ point _ is—ha! See what I did there? Sorry, the point is that people think I’m a lot more dangerous than I am. I’m not a fighter. My _ parents _ are fighters. They’re off guarding the gates or something, and have asked me to come out into the world so maybe I could… I dunno. Toughen up a bit?” She grinned again, giggled and covered her eyes. “I’m a bit soft…”

He slumped back on his elbows, circling one hand in midair, encouraging her to go on. “Scorpia, please.”

“Sorry, sorry. The point is...I’ve had to keep you under for a while. Every time you woke up you’d try to kill me, tear open your wound, get something infected. You weren’t in your right mind. So, I had to keep you under. I’ve been trying to wake you up every week or so…”

“Week!?” His elbows collapsed and he landed on the ground with a hard thud that pushed the air out of his lungs with a huff. There was no pain now. Perhaps there had only been when he woke up because somewhere deep in his mind, he’d been expecting it.

“Yeah… But it’s been maybe...six months? Since the pool anyway. I’m sorry, Héctor. I didn’t want to keep you under for so long, but you weren’t...right.”

He covered his eyes. Darted his gaze back and forth in the dark cup of his palm. Six months. Since he’d left Santa Cecilia. Since he’d left Imelda. No, that was impossible.. This had to be some sort of fever dream brought on by his infection. But...his other fingers probed his stomach, feeling the ugly ridge of scar. He had been badly injured, almost killed, and his recovery had taken six whole months.

“I need to get home,” he said, shooting upright. The movement startled Scorpia, who jolted and covered her cheeks with her huge claws. She was still wearing the same dress she had been at the pool, the gold cloth catching the light from the fire and sending sparkles all around the clearing, painting the trees with a strange ethereal light.

“Alright, we can probably arrange that.” She rubbed her head, claw catching on short white hair, and chewed on her lower lip. “I’ll help you up, c’mere.” She held out one claw. He hesitated for a second, then slid his hand into it. It was smooth and hard, just like the claw of a crab, and he knew that if she snapped down she could probably sever all of his fingers in one swift movement. She didn’t though. She closed it gently, about as much pressure as any other hand he’d taken in his life, and helped him to his feet. He felt a bolt of nausea pass through him, turning him pale, and he hunched forward as she rubbed his back. “Whoa there, buddy, slowly okay? There’s no rush.”

“You don’t understand.” He straightened, swayed, leaned against her. She was solid muscle and he found himself craning his neck to look up at her. Yeah, he and Ernesto wouldn’t have stood a chance. “I left her, all alone. I need to get back to her.”

“Sure, okay. I get that.” Her eyes, the pupils so huge they almost eclipsed a thin ring of red iris, softened and lowered. “I can’t take you back to wherever it is. Humans hate me. They’ll kill me on sight. You saw what your friend was like.”

“Why is that, exactly?”

She shrugged, plates of chitin rolling over each other with gentle scratching sounds. “The Aqrabuamelu are just like that. I think my parents were hoping a few little battles would make me strong enough to join them.” She made a little cooing sound and patted the top of his head with one claw. “But I can’t help it, you guys are just so cute.”

“Thank you, chica.” Unable to help himself, he grinned. “How close can you get me to Santa Cecelia?”

“I am not sure where that is.” She frowned, pouting slightly. “I suppose we could go via the underworld. Distances are way shorter there. We go down, find you a gate and _ zip _, up you go.”

“I would rather not go to the underworld, if that’s okay by you.”

“I could knock you out again?” she offered, wiggling the point of her tail at him. The bead of venom glistened there and he shook his head.

“No thank you. I have been out enough.” He paused, looking around. The woods were not the same as the ones near the Hierve El Agua. They were softer, broader. The trees were familiar. “Scorpia, amiga, where are we?”

“Oh.” She blinked. “I don’t quite know. Whenever you woke up, you’d set off in a direction. I assumed you knew where you were going, so I just kept heading that way. You kept wanting to head into town from here though and I couldn’t go with that, so we’re in a clearing I found.”

“Into town.” He pointed between two particularly gnarled trees, his hand shaking. “That way?”

“Yep!”

“You brought me home!” He jumped into her arms, hugging her as best he could, considering his arms didn’t quite reach all the way around her broad chest. “Thank you!”

“Oh! You’re welcome!” She frowned. “Does that mean I coulda just left you here? You’d have woken up and gotten home fine?” The thought drove another unpleasant little spike of doubt into his mind, but he pushed the feeling away.

“You saved my life, amiga. I will owe you forever. Thank you.” Without a hint of self consciousness, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. She flushed, a warm blue seeping over her cheek, and waved one claw. 

“Alright, well if you’re all set I’ll head back.” She reached one huge claw into the shimmery skirt of her dress, a pocket that was almost invisible, and pulled out a small, smooth black stone. “If you ever need me, just think my name while holding this. I’ll hear you.”

He took the stone, rubbed it between his fingertips, and smiled. “I wish I had some sort of magic to give you to call me, but I don’t. Sorry. Good luck, amiga, I hope your parents aren’t too hard on you.”

“Right back atcha, Héctor. But with, you know...whoever’s waiting for you.”

She ticked her claw off her forehead, a makeshift salute, and then turned and vanished beneath the ground, the grass parting for her as though it were a doorway before silently meshing back together. Héctor stared at the spot where she had been, speechless—she really was from the underworld, who knew?—before turning back to town.

He walked in with quiet footsteps. His feet were bare, he realised now, and the stone pathways were cold beneath them. Each step grew in confidence when the jolting movement didn’t inspire a fresh stab of pain. Then he saw it, the farm, the Rivera hacienda in the distance. The lights were on and a thin thread of smoke traced up from the chimney. He was almost home!

As he approached, he noticed a small bird perched on the lintel. Blue feathers shining in the orange light of the lanterns, a clever gleam in its small black eyes. He looked at it, frowning. What was it doing there? This little bluebird, sitting there bold as brass, looking right at him. It was not the time of year for bluebirds anyway, never mind the time of day. Something sparked in the far reaches of his mind for a moment, something he’d imagined, or the memory of a tale from his youth, but it was gone before he could grab it.

He knocked on the door, hands trembling, and flinched as it flung open. Inside stood Imelda, his Imelda, her face thin and wan, her eyes tired. They lit on him, warm brown soothing the rough edges of his psyche, and then turned away. “Another dream,” she mumbled, and the door started to swing shut.

“It’s me, it’s really me, Imelda,” he said, reaching out and catching the door before the latch could engage. “I was gone too long but now I’m home.”

She turned, eyes widening, and then lunged through the open door, her arms wide. Her embrace finally felt real, like he was properly awake for the first time in months, and he folded his arms around her. There were subtle differences in the press of her body, something had changed in the six months he had been gone, but he wasn’t able to place them. Nor did he care. She was in his arms again, and the warmth of her against him was all he needed.

At least, that was what he thought then.

“Héctor, come in, I have someone I’d like you to meet.” She took his hand, their fingers entwining, and pulled him into the house. Her brothers were sleeping, Héctor could hear their snores. And then Imelda was tugging him into her room, somewhere he had slept only a few times before. It was almost exactly the same, the windows open to the outside air, curtains fluttering in the warm, gentle breeze. The bluebird from the front door was sitting on the windowsill now, preening soft feathers with its beak, seeming to watch them.

Beneath the window was a carved wooden bassinet, rocking gently on small curved beams. Héctor stared, mouth wide open, as Imelda pulled him closer. Inside lay a baby. Thin wisps of dark hair and a tiny button nose. Her eyes were shut, though he was sure that if they opened they would be the same soft, warm brown as his own.

“Héctor, mi amor, I want you to meet our daughter. This is Coco. She’s been waiting to meet you.” 

The bluebird watched Héctor reach out and, for the first time, caress his daughter’s cheek. As his heart was made whole. 

**Author's Note:**

> My prompt was Bluebird of Happiness! An adorable prompt I didn't know anything about before XD I hope it fits!  
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BluebirdOfHappiness


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